


Ill-fated Odyssey

by brasspetal



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mysterious illness, Weather related surrealism, between s3 and s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-16 03:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11820777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brasspetal/pseuds/brasspetal
Summary: That impediment that made its home in his chest.--Flint ruminates over the fact that he loves Silver.





	1. Chapter 1

Flint recognizes those unspoken truths that pervade his senses; those thoughts are tangled up like beach weed. He railed against them for a time. He was violent in his resistance to it. That impediment that made its home in his chest. There, those infuriating thoughts remained, nestled and unbroken by his anger. It wasn’t futile, was it? Eventually, those thoughts would fade into the background and he’d never search for a certain pair of eyes in the dark again.

He catches himself in the lie when a lone figure draws his eyes away from the sea towards the jutting rocks impaling the shoreline.

There it is again, the tide receding in his chest. His heart mirrored the rhythm of the sea. The figure limps up the rock face. Flint watches him slowly sit, his leg dangling over the edge towards the angry sea.

The wind was picking up pushing bits of sand across his boots and if he stood here long enough, watching that figure, he knew he could be buried by it. He unmoors himself from the spot and his legs feel weighed down as if he's trudging through water. Would it be foolish for him to entertain the idea that Silver may very well be his end? That lone figure without a history to speak of.

_Conjured up from the sea._

He was, after all, Flint’s other self. A reflection, fractured and inconsequentially repaired.

He nears closer to that figure and the thread between them loosens. The strain of distance dissipates. That feeling used to set him on edge, make him bare his teeth at Silver whenever he came too close, but now he’s beginning to accept this thread of theirs like a permanent fixture.

Now, it was other more dangerous thoughts that plucked at him until he’d finally go mad from it.

He can see Silver more clearly from this spot along the shore but Silver doesn’t glance in his direction, he keeps his eyes towards the sea. Flint knows without much deliberation that the only path his feet wish to take him on is to that rock face.

Flint knows if he waits too long to approach Silver, a storm would be upon the beach and they’d be swallowed up, waiting for the other.  Is this him seeking out his own tragedies?

His boots find the rock face which is surprisingly flat and he ascends to the spot where Silver’s back comes directly into view. The crutch is sitting beside him and he’s as still as a statue; crystallized and weather-beaten. 

Without a word, Flint moves towards the empty spot beside Silver, which remains a quiet invitation. He sits down, dangling his legs towards the swirling waves, which foam white beneath.  That dread corrugated out from his chest, leaving his heart to beat harshly against his ribs.

“I waited by the cliffside earlier and watched you curiously pace around the sand.” Silver says and his voice is soft, softer than Flint had expected.

Flint doesn’t bother with a reply, he finds looking out to the dark wall of clouds a preferable alternative.

“I had forgotten there were no lessons today.” Silver continues and his tone suggests he’s smiling. Flint wouldn’t know for certain since he didn’t dare turn to look at the man beside him. From his periphery, he could surmise that Silver was looking at him, openly, without much effort.

Silver huffs, “So, I spent my afternoon watching you create patterns with your pacing. Is something troubling you?”

“Nothing troubles me.” Flint lies thinly and he becomes irritated with the small laugh that escapes from Silver.

“I watched you earlier, disassemble. So, I made myself approachable and waited.” Silver replies with a smile to his words.

Flint chances a glance at him then and catches that small smile, aimed at him. Those bright eyes blink back at him comfortably. Flint was on the verge of throwing himself from this rock face and being done with it.

He knows Silver recognizes the irritation and it only serves to widen that smile of his.

Something had changed between them. Flint couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment in time but the change was so profound that it shook his foundations. It turned things inside out and banished sense all at once.

“Are you angry with me?” Silver questions and his smile falters.

He’s furious with him, with _it_. Whatever this wretched thing is.  “No.”

“That wasn’t very convincing, I have to say.”

Flint doesn’t think lashing out or lunging at Silver could quell it. The reason for this bout of madness was right beside him, however.

Perhaps if they both tumbled down into the waves it would silence everything and only that imperceptible darkness would remain. The darkness wouldn’t speak, it wouldn’t smile or repeat his thoughts to the air. It would keep him in those depths until time had little meaning.

Silver was looking more concerned than amused now. Flint closes his eyes against it to regain some sanity.

It bursts out of him, louder than he anticipated, “You’re insufferable.”

“Why thank you.” Silver replies and he’s huffing a laugh again.

There’s an awkward indeterminant amount of silence before he opens his eyes and looks at Silver. Those curious eyes find his and he becomes unravelled all over again. Any sanity he gained from a moment ago has now crumbled.

“That wasn’t at all what I meant to say,” Flint speaks, quietly.

“I see, well how should I translate then?” Silver asks with an odd sincerity.

Flint doesn’t really know what it is he meant to say or if he meant to speak at all.

The wind picks up, pushing strands of dirty hair across Silver’s face. He appeared unbothered by the growing severity of the weather. The waves churn and beckon him to their depths. He watches the maelstrom form below. The sea was going to swallow this rock with them on it.

He startles when Silver’s hand touches his cheek. It’s as cold as ice and should not be at all pleasant but he turns to face him once again. “Where are you?” Silver recites as he pulls back.

“I don’t know where I am. I feel as if I’ve stepped inside a world upside down.” Flint says truthfully and Silver blanches, blinking at him.

Before he can speak, Flint continues, “It’s you. You’re the catalyst.” It isn’t accusatory but he knows Silver might take it as such.

“I don’t understand.” Silver feigns ignorance.

“You do. Don’t insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise.” Flint persists and he watches the false confusion fade beneath Silver’s features. There is realization there and an old understanding. The kind of understanding they’ve only ever had for one another. “Our minds are inviolably aligned. There is nothing I can do to tear it loose. If I were to snap the connection I’m afraid my thoughts would fray and I’d be something lesser. I would not survive the separation.”

Silver is watching him with an infuriatingly calm expression and he says, “We are in a constant state of evolution. You and I.”

“Do you not recognize it then? What we have evolved into?” Flint speaks harshly as if such a thing revolted him.

“We moved passed the precipice of friendship. It frightens you, doesn’t it?”

Flint practically snarls at that. “I want nothing more than to let the storm claim it. This chaotic thing.”

“It’s not a foreign concept to you; giving yourself to another. And forgive me but, I’m no Thomas Hamilton. I share a fondness for the chaotic. I’d consider your darkness mine; an old friend of sorts. It terrifies you.”

Silver leans back on his palms to gaze at him and Flint wants nothing more than to close the distance. He wants to wrap himself up in shadow. “To love in such a way is to welcome eventual ruination,” Flint says more to himself than to Silver.

“Maybe but that descent began long ago though, you know this. The choice to turn back is also long gone.”

Flint understood the truth as clear as anything and he waits in bated silence.  The rain pours down from the heavy dark clouds with a certain fury. Nature willed them to drown. Silver’s hair is plastered to his face and through the gale he kept his eyes on Flint. He looked very much like a creature come up out of the sea to torment him. Neither of them comments on leaving this spot. It was a challenge. He could see it clearly in Silver’s expression. He was daring Flint to close the distance between them. It was a small sliver of space that would crumble whatever resistance Flint had left to muster against it.  

Lightning cracks brilliantly in the dark and a strong gust of wind almost pulls them off the edge. Silver’s eyes snap to the waves below and Flint uses the opportunity to gain the advantage. He moves quickly, immediately gripping Silver’s soaked shirt to root him to his palm and clashes his mouth with Silver’s. It’s a harsh thing, uncoordinated, painful. Flint’s anger spills out of him until he doesn’t have any left to grapple with. Silver is gripping onto his shoulders as if to keep from falling into the abyss.

It wasn’t enough, nowhere near enough. Flint needed to mould himself into this creature. He wanted to be whole again. He _needed_ to be made whole again. Silver pushes against his chest and Flint stops the onslaught. Their lips separate a fraction. The wind is howling and they are caught in its embrace. Silver is looking at him with a certain inconceivable reverence as they share breath. He can’t fathom how he could ever look away. Silver moves slowly forward and connects their mouths gently. The connection is soft, warm and filled with quiet adoration.

They were to be made into seawater and brine. They were the ill-fated odyssey. Yet, the storm did not claim them. It was their equal. He knew that with Silver’s lips beneath his, he could conquer it all. They would be kings; their very own Neptunes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver conjures a storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had too much fun writing these characters to let them go. This chapter switches between Silver and Flint's povs.

Standing in the maroon village, while listening to the distant laughter of children, Flint can still hear the crashing of waves. It had been a week since that storm. Since they shared the same breath beneath it. They had almost drowned and they haven’t spoken of it. Flint knew that was his doing, he had been avoiding Silver and finding things to toil away with. They had a battle to prepare for after all. Shouldn’t that be what claims his thoughts? Instead, he’s spent the afternoon mindlessly trying to banish the sound of the sea. He cannot even glean enjoyment from reading the books Madi had provided him.

It was some kind of hell.

He didn’t like what had been drawn out of him. He has never been this transparent. The unease of it added sharp edges to everything. To the light, to the air, to the happy clucking of the chickens scrambling in the dirt. He had given into such misery time and time again. The addiction to this, to _him_ , would ease. There was no other choice.

The Maroon queen requested his presence and he obliged, welcoming whatever distraction found its way to him. He doesn’t look up towards the hut that Silver slept in. He knew, like all things, that if he saw him staring over at him with that sardonic grin, that he’d lose the traction his thoughts had gained.

Flint recognized this wasn’t some half-hearted affair of fumbling in the dark for a reprieve. _This_ was something most viewed as unattainable; enlightened even.

A storm had been born from their kiss. He cannot imagine the destruction it would wrought if this thread was severed. It was best to pretend that the thread wasn’t there at all.

Flint knew this to be a terrible plan but it was all he had.

\--

Silver was never much for the heat, then again, he was never much for any of it, if he was being honest. He sat at the edge of his bed and glared at the crutch. The shadow of it stretched into the doorway in an obtuse menacing angle. He sighed and reached for his metal boot instead. Perhaps it was out of spite. He didn’t care.

_He did care._

That was the whole goddamn problem in the first place. The root of everything that brought him to this moment. One-legged, and miserably drenched in sweat.

He imagines that loving James McGraw couldn’t have been this difficult. Captain Flint was like taming a tempest; nearly impossible. Then again, how could Silver compete with the ghost of a saint? He doesn’t need to question how special that bond once was. He can see it daily in the war they are fighting and in the destruction created in its wake.

So, there it is.

The resolution there being that John Silver will lend himself to the torment of it. With that,  _not at all_ sorted, he stands and limps out into the sun.

It’s blindingly bright and he holds up his hand to shield his view. The first person he spots is Flint, trudging through the mud towards the lake. He watches his retreating back and Silver hates the way his heart betrays his anger.

“Did something happen?”

He hears from behind him and he forces his gaze away before turning to face Madi. She hid her worries well beneath her kind expression.

“What do you mean?” Silver questions and she nods her head in the direction of Flint.

“Did something happen between you and Flint?”

Silver gives her a small smile, “Nothing to be concerned about, I assure you.”  

“It doesn’t seem that way. You’ve not spoken since your lessons ended.” Madi supplies and Silver tilts his head at her. “How could you possibly know that?”

“This alliance is critical to what we are trying to accomplish. It is important that those who lead it are in good spirits and without burden. If there is tension between the two of you then there is tension between the three of us and that cannot be. I would suggest reconciling before it gets out of hand.”

Silver wasn’t about to argue with her. He nods in understanding and she eyes him for a long moment before leaving. She doesn’t quite believe him but he can’t really place the blame on her. She was right, even if this separation wasn’t his choice.

If it were up to Silver then they’d be chasing another storm by now.

He limps down to the muddy earth and walks the well-travelled path. He nods at Kofi before seeing Flint once again with his back turned to him. He was contemplating darkly and the weight of it echoed over the lakeside.

“They say there’s another storm brewing.” Silver says, softly and he finds satisfaction when he notices Flint’s shoulders tense.

He doesn’t bother to turn back to look at Silver. “I had not heard that.”

“It’s important to be informed. They say it could be a ship killer.”

“What do you want?” Flint grits. His perpetual irritation with Silver had never failed to amuse him.  It had waned as of late, especially since the breakthrough after the shark incident. He had found he missed it.

Silver switches the weight onto his good leg and says, “I believe we should talk and I doubt you’d want to do it here.”

“No.” Flint bluntly replies.

“No?”

“There is nothing to say. I know what it is you want to talk about.”

Silver clenches his jaw and looks down to the muddy ground beneath him. His leg was already sore from the boot. “Then do me the courtesy and face me while you explain to me what you deem is important and what isn’t.”

Flint turns, his boots sloshing in the mud. His hands rest behind his back stiffly. He fixes Silver with a cold gaze, like that of King greeting his subject. He opens his mouth to speak and Silver prepares for it.

Thunder resounds in the distance and Flint looks startled by it. The veneer begins to crack and it’s a beautiful sight. The words he was about to say don’t come.

“I wasn’t lying.” Silver comments and waits for another loud boom which shatters the sky. “To be clear, Madi noticed the tension and asked me to speak with you but if there is _nothing_ to talk about then I shall be on my way.”

Silver hopes the tone conveys his immense frustration. He sets his hand to his thigh to quell the radiating pain and turns to begin walking back.

“Why aren’t you using the crutch?” Flint asks, quietly reluctant.

It’s Silver this time that doesn’t turn back around to face him. “What does it matter?”

He shuts his eyes to the silent stretch that follows and begins limping away from him again. Nothing is said to stop his retreat.

\--

The wind whips through the village with an untamed ferocity as rain descends violently from the sky, quickly flooding the pathways.  Flint found a certain peace in it. He was seeing his thoughts spring forth onto the world, let loose like the beasts they are. Perhaps it was selfish to think the world deserved them but he didn’t want the burden of it any longer.

Flint knew he wasn’t an easy person to contend with but Silver had seemed to do it so effortlessly well that he forgets how it could grate on anyone. The storm made him see things clearer, made him bare to the world in a way that wasn’t frighteningly open. Which was why he found it easier to search after Silver in the downpour. He didn’t have a plan and if they used this time to scream at one another then he’d consider it worth it. He’d almost prefer that over the sullen glances and the quiet discontent.

When he reaches the hut, Silver is nowhere to be found.  Rain dripped between the thatched roof and he stood there; almost blown away by a gust.

_Where are you?_

He turned back towards the lake and could barely see in front of him. The world is obscured and empty. Everyone disappeared into shelter except him. He was the madman wandering in the mud.

Flint revelled in the fact that the deranged sky could bear down upon him and tear him apart if it wanted. Most others would not find a feral comfort in it. He could only think of one other that would and he forged through the flood towards the cliffside.

The trees were bending, whipping wildly and almost impaling him with scattered loose branches. When he finally reaches the clearing to the soaked sand, he can see the blurry cliff side. Lightning snaps the darkness apart above it and he sees the dark familiar outline of Silver standing at the mount of it. They had grown to know this spot well, it was where he taught him ‘not to die’.

To Flint’s dismay, the wind had already started to die down and with it the viciousness of his self-destruction. The entirety of the storm, which he used as his shield, is dissipating as he neared Silver. He felt as though he had been caught in a trap as if Silver had willed such a thing into thin air and now he had no choice. He condemns himself to the path.

The rain was a soft patter now and the wind was but a caress by the time he reached him. Silver was some kind of witch, that he was certain.

“You tricked me,” Flint says. He’s soaked through and torn open. To say that such a thing angered him would be a severe understatement. 

Silver turns to face him from the rock where he rests and he looks utterly miserable. There’s a permanent deep anguish beneath his eyes when he’s at his most vulnerable and it fans Flint’s temper to embers.

Silver tries to smile, “Funny thing….I didn’t actually know there was to be a storm.”

“So, you did conjure it,” Flint replies but it’s lacking any bite. Silver doesn’t attempt to smile again, he rests his hands on his thighs and looks to the wet sand in exhaustion.

He didn’t look like a man who had tricked anyone. The old bravado was nowhere to be found in this instance and it unnerved Flint to a startling degree.

“Are you alright?” Flint asks, setting aside any argument he wished to fling at Silver for the time being.

“I’m fine..” He says pitifully quiet and Flint sighs before kneeling in front of him. He looked clammy and pale, more so than usual. His lips held no color. Silver closes his eyes as if he can’t bear to look at him.

“You look like death.” Flint supplies and Silver remains silent. The sea is a dull background noise but it doesn’t pull comfort towards them. It seems too far away.

Flint reaches his hand up towards Silver’s head and asks, “May I?”

Silver doesn’t protest and when he sets his palm to his forehead, it feels as though he had reached into a fire pit. “Jesus…”

Silver opens his eyes finally and blinks groggily at him before speaking, “I would guess spending too much time trying to tame storms can have consequences.”

“We need to get you back to the camp, now.” Flint’s voice echoes over the cliff side onto the quiet beach below. This was not the challenge nor the fight Flint had been hoping for. This only served to feed the dread.

“I’d rather not if that’s alright with you. It’ll pass.”

Flint huffs in frustration, “Dawdling out here will only serve to make it worse.”

“I assure you…I’m...” Silver starts and then sways. He suddenly collapses, falling sideways unceremoniously into the sand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious illness grips Silver and Flint unravels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Flint reads to Silver is Don Quixote. This has a happy ending, I promise!

The sky dips and punctures the darkened horizon. It’s a breath before sunrise.

Flint is dissolving in what’s left of the shadow until the light pierces him through the trees. He’s sat outside the hut and waiting. Always waiting.

Waiting on another tragedy?

If Silver was conscious he’d berate him for being so dramatic but he fears these things because he has sought them out. Not of his own violation but here he is.

His heart is on the verge of leaping from his ribcage, never to be seen again. He can’t contain it.

Flint had carried Silver away from the cliffside and Silver’s head had lulled limply against his shoulder. He looked astoundingly real. A young man who carried Flint’s rage for him when he could not. A young man who’s heart he could feel against his own. They were always in a twisted sort of tandem. They’ve shared screams and the pervading allure of that darkling called death.

Here, Flint sat, shielding his eyes to light as if it offended him.

_Waiting._

“May I sit?”

He snaps his attention to Madi, who had a light shawl to match the sky wrapped over her shoulders. She’s always the picture of strength. Flint motions for her to do so. She complies and looks out to the light unafraid. It did not blind her, it enveloped her.

“All that can be done is to wait for his fever to break.” She says.

He presses his back against the chair and asks, “Was it his leg?”

“No. There are others who are ill as well.”

Flint squints at her then, “Others? How many others?”

“Five, we do not know why. I fear there will be more.”

Flint felt that familiar desperation returning, “Has anyone died?”

“No…I hope it will remain that way but we cannot be certain.”

The grimness of those words left him hollow. As if something had crept up and stolen all the warmth from within. Clouds sweep in overhead blocking out the sun, leaving an inky dew colored fog to the trees. Rain doesn’t come this time. The wetness stays suspended in the air, which suffocates and aggravates his senses.

Flint makes his way inside the hut again to see Silver lying on the bed, supine, and ghostly pale. The sight makes his legs unsteady as he neared the chair there. That dread claws its way inside the quiet, sitting next to him like the darkness itself. Always there, always waiting.

“Not this time,” Flint whispers aloud to those demons.

Not _him_.

Watching the rise and fall of Silver’s chest, Flint knows he’d make a ruin out of the whole world if it meant this man, his other self, would keep breathing beside him.

He watches Silver swallow and his eyes slowly open, half-lidded. He rasps, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“As if you are paying your respects.” There’s a hint of a smile behind Silver’s lips.

“There are others who are ill as well,” Flint adds and watches Silver’s expression falter. His eyes move away from Flint’s to find the ceiling and all that it’s lacking.

“I see. Have any died?”

Flint shifts uncomfortably and says, “Not yet. We don’t know where it came from.”

There’s silence and it stretches until the sun is high in the sky above. Flint flipped uselessly through a book, caressing the pages and glancing at the first lines of paragraphs that meant nothing. His distraction was permanent. Silver had fallen to sleep again and Flint found that watching the rise and fall of his chest would eventually drive him mad.

He flips a yellowed page and begins to read aloud, “ _I was born free, and that I might live in freedom I chose the solitude of the fields; in the trees of the mountains I find society, the clear waters of the brooks are my mirrors, and to the trees and waters I make known my thoughts and charms. I am fire afar off, a sword laid aside….”_

\--

Silver is set aflame; his skin feels taught against his bones. His body is a weight, pulling him down into the undertow.

He could faintly hear the soft cadence of Flint’s voice reciting something to him.  The groggy half dream of something beautiful clung to him like sand. He strained to listen, to focus, to hear that voice above all others. That voice, that drove men to kill, to bleed, to sing in torment or glee. That voice that now read to him, ever so softly. _“…He was persistent in spite of warning, he despaired without being hated. Bethink you now if it be reasonable that his suffering should be laid to my charge_.”

It is dark, damp and smells of rooted soil from medicinal concoctions provided. He feels that if he were to move too quickly, his skin would shatter like glass. Words sit heavy on his tongue, everything he wants to tell that voice in the dark. Those weighted words that they both know but have yet to speak.

A goblet is being pushed against his lips and he cringes, moving his head away.  His eyes spring open and the brightness of the day pierces him like tiny daggers. He lifts his arm to block and banish the light.

After a moment of agony, there’s suddenly shadow; blissful shadow. He moves his arm, which he shielded against the light, to see that Flint had blocked a gap in the wall with a shawl.

“You’ve not drank any water all day.” Flint replies and Silver forces himself to sit up through the anguish. He reaches for the goblet beside him. “I don’t need….” Silver begins and grips it from the table. “.. your fucking help. I can manage this.”

His head is throbbing with an immeasurable pain and it made him exceptionally irritable. Flint concedes his point and sits back down in the chair beside him. The chair he hasn’t left.

The water does nothing for Silver but he drinks of it what he can before resting the goblet back down with great effort. Even if his body protested he remained upright, leaning against the wall. He blinked blurry-eyed towards Flint.

“You were reading something?” Silver asks and he swallows.

“Several hours ago, yes. You’ve been sleeping.”

Silver closes his eyes, “I don’t need you here…”

He hopes Flint understands the meaning he was trying to convey but the words still hang painfully in the air.

Silver sighs and traverses his muddled thoughts, “What I meant is…”

Flint interrupts him, “I don’t need to rest. I’ve been resting here all day, it’s enough.”

Flint always knows. He can decipher his thoughts even when Silver doesn’t speak them aloud.

Kofi steps into the room, looking between the two of them solemnly and Flint turns to face him.

“You are required.” Is all he says and Silver nods at him silently.  Flint turns back to Silver, catching his eye as he stands. He watches him leave and as soon as he does, Silver immediately lies back down and pants in the quiet. His head feels as though it could cave in from the pressure and he could hardly stand it. He reaches for the cloth resting on the bucket filled with water and raises it to his head. The relief is minimal but it’s cooled.

Flint comes back inside the room not long after and he meets Silver’s gaze. Silver watches his jaw clench and his eyes break away, finding some spot on the wall to cast his anger at.

“Someone died, didn’t they?” Silver asks and Flint blinks, moving towards the chair silently.

“Didn’t they?” Silver prods and Flint sits in front of him with a quiet breath.

“How are you feeling?” Is Flint’s answer.

“I ask you now that you please not keep me in the fucking dark about this.” Silver sits up on a cringe and he rests against the wall again.

“You should be sleeping.” Flint replies and Silver can feel his rage bubbling far too close to the surface.

“Don’t fucking coddle me goddammit! Tell me!” Silver yells and wastes what precious little energy he has. He slumps down on the pillow again and shuts his eyes tight.

“It’s spreading. There are more that have it and one has died.” The words tumble out of Flint from pent up desperation and it causes Silver to open his eyes.

Flint looked wild-eyed and fearful. It was if the curtain had been torn down and he’s giving Silver that vulnerability as a plea. The desperation evaporates as quickly as it was shown though, and he straightens up in the chair, pressing his lips together.

“You may have to finish your war without me.” Silver’s smile is bitter and not appreciated in the slightest.

Flint’s voice is quiet, “I said I can’t do it without you and I meant it.”

Silver closes his eyes against what was happening next. He couldn’t take confessions or apologies. Not now. Not like this.

“John..” Flint begins and he sounds like a different person, he sounds like James McGraw. It was the first time he had ever called Silver by his first name.

“No!” Silver replies with fury. “You are unbelievable you know that? I will not hear you spill your heart as if I’m already dead. Don’t make me listen to that.”  

The chair creaks and the sound of Flint’s boots near him. Silver slowly opens his eyes to meet Flint’s above his. He watches Flint fight with his thoughts. He can see the battle displayed across his pained expression. Silver’s breathing quickens and they held that moment between them like a vise, ever crushing the two of them. He felt tears spill unbidden down the side of his face. Flint opens his mouth to speak, he can see all that he wishes to say and Silver says with wretched desperation, “Don’t!”

Flint finally concedes and nods once; eyes glassy in the growing dark. Silver shuts his eyes again, the exhaustion claimed him. He couldn’t stay awake much longer. He didn’t protest this time when Flint set the cool cloth to his head. It’s the last thing he feels before sleep claims him.

\--

Flint sat on Silver’s bed as he watched with a pathetic uselessness. He watched as Silver shivered and became delirious with the fever that refused to break. He spoke names that Flint had never heard before, names he assumed were from that horrid past Silver refused to speak on. At one point, he had reached out and Flint had taken his hand; he had yet to release it.

His rage this night was unmatched. There was a wildness to his thoughts, one he left unchecked. He became afraid that the next person to step into the room would not leave it.

“You’ve not won. Not yet.” Flint says to the darkened corner. He lifts Silver’s hand, which he gripped tightly, to his face. He presses his palm to hold it there. Silver’s skin was on fire. He was going to die if he didn’t do something. The sound of the sea rushes into his ears, the crashing of waves, the wrecking of ships. He can’t let him become one of his myriad of ghosts.

He stands in a moment of rash decision and pulls Silver up from his pillow. He throws his arm over his shoulder and drags him uncoordinated from the bed. Silver is a furnace against him.

The cool night air wasn’t much of a reprieve as he carried Silver down the path towards the small lake that stretched out in front of him.  The water was the color of pitch in the night and the surface resembled glass, reflecting the trees that reached out towards the water.

He stepped into the cool water, banishing their reflections from it. He pulled Silver swiftly with him, letting the lake envelop his heated skin. He held him there and searched for the moon above which was hidden by a wall of dark clouds. If he knew how to speak to the hidden constellations and the forest gods that came from them, he would. He’d ask them to take anything they wanted from him as long as they kept the man in his arms breathing.

Flint wanted to scream until his throat was raw from it, he wanted to set fire to the night. His entire body ached with an exhausted fury.

He pleads to the coming storm. He pleads to the water, swallowing them up. He pleads to Silver as if he could put a stop to it.  He lifts him from the water then; dripping back onto the shore. Silver’s skin had cooled considerably but he was now wracked with violent shivers. He threw his arm over his shoulder and took him back to the hut.

He gathered any furs he could find and piled them on the bed. This was the last bit of effort to get this vile fever to break. If not, then Flint might as well take them both back to the sea and never resurface again.  

The world didn’t exist without this thread of theirs and pretending it did is the most foolish thing of all. He whispered apologies even if Silver didn’t wish to hear them.

He could feel himself waning, and a sense of defeat drowning him. He lay his head on Silver’s chest to listen to the heartbeat there and he counted the beats without purpose.

It wasn’t long before the rain began outside. It wasn't demanding to be let in, it was a soft pattering. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually slept and his body gave into it.

His dreams are cruel things, they remind him of places and people that didn’t exist any longer. They remind him of the things time has stolen and was stealing away at this very moment. The barbaric need to avenge his many losses has yet to leave him. It was there when he shut is eyes and it was there in the sea reflected back at him.

He awakes to a hand on his head and blinks his eyes open. He was still lying on Silver’s chest and he sits up quick at the memory. Silver’s eyes are open and they are looking directly into his with confident vulnerability. An expression only someone like Silver could display so openly and still be the strongest person Flint has ever known. 

The fever had left him sometime during the night. Sweat glistened in the hollow of Silver’s throat and there’s an immense fondness displayed in his expression. Those eyes absorb him and he can’t seem to form a single word. The relief that Flint feels alights his entire body. He leans in and hesitates, bumping his nose with Silver’s. Silver lifts his head slightly, meeting their lips together with gentle understanding.

\--

Silver sat outside the hut overlooking the Maroon village absently lost in his thoughts. Thunder boomed loudly overhead and it was pouring, muddying the earth once again but the storm wasn’t a violent one. It was almost celebratory, the way the rain embraced the huts.

Only one other had died in the night from the illness that claimed them, the rest seemed to be recovering. Silver had thought he had finally met his end after the hell they’ve put themselves through.

He can hear those familiar boots near him and looks to see Flint walk up beside him. There’s an openness to his features he’s displayed since Silver had woken from the fever delirium. It’s startling and each time gives him pause as if he’s lost the will to speak. Which was a foreign concept to Silver.

“How are you feeling?” Flint asks and their eyes don’t drift away from one another.

“Like hell still but managing. Recovering. Speaking of, you look like death yourself.”

Flint smirks, tiredly and sighs, “Sleep has never been a friend.”

“Thank you, by the way.” Silver supplies a small smile and Flint blinks at him with quiet adoration. This is completely new to Silver and he felt awkwardly contented by it. Tossing smiles Flint’s way only seemed to fuel the adoration rather than produce an annoyed glare. It is almost an experiment of sorts. Perhaps the veil had finally been lifted.

“You terrify me,” Flint says softly and Silver squints at him, searching his eyes. He knew why though, he didn’t have the energy to pretend he didn’t. Flint recognized his thought pattern and continued, “You terrify me, challenge me, and reflect my thoughts back with such a disturbing accuracy. I don’t know what to call it, or you. No labels will ever affix it. If you were some sort of fiend you could destroy me with but a word. I am utterly enraptured by you.”

Silver’s breath is caught in chest and he felt as if he’s floating loose in the air above. Thunder rumbles and Flint scowls, amusingly. Without preamble, Silver moves forward pressing their lips together and Flint immediately responds as if he had been waiting for it. There is no hurried movements or dark doubtful thoughts. There is just _this_ , as it always has been. They were intertwined in one another irrevocably. Flint’s lips are warm and inviting; a place to rest his weariness. As the kiss slowly deepens without any indication of relenting, Silver breathes him in. Flint holds them there; enveloping him. They fumble back into the hut, all breathless smiles as the storm grew outside. It embraced the thatched roof with rain. This ancient tempest shielded them from the world in its entirety.

Ill-fated or no, John Silver loves James Flint more than he could ever fathom and would do so until the earth claimed them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first fic for the Black Sails fandom and I'd love to write more. Thank you for reading!


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